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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183073">The Wolf in the Woods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight'>thewightknight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>BeWitching Tales [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Red Riding Hood Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:40:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Don’t go into the woods behind town</i>, everyone said. <i>Horrible beasts live there. They’ll eat you before you can blink!</i></p><p>But nothing had eaten old Tren yet, and he’d lived in a little cabin a few miles in from the tree line for longer than Jaskier had been alive. And Tren had been a bard in a court in his youth. At least, that’s what the village gossips said.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>BeWitching Tales [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Wolf in the Woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part 2 of Witcher fairy tales. I'm not sure if more will be forthcoming, but I started a series for them just in case. </p><p>Threnody—a lament. In Polish: Tren</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Don’t go into the woods behind town,</em> everyone said. <em>Horrible beasts live there. They’ll eat you before you can blink!</em></p><p>But nothing had eaten old Tren yet, and he’d lived in a little cabin a few miles in from the tree line for longer than Jaskier had been alive. And Tren had been a bard in a court in his youth. At least, that’s what the village gossips said.</p><p>“Stay out of the woods. About as much sense as the fluff on a dandelion,” one of those gossips had told him once when he wandered into the forest the first time, and it stuck. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, became Jaskier.</p><p>It wasn’t as if his official title meant anything. One could set it on a scale against a clipped copper and find it wanting. Besides his heir and a spare, Jaskier had two other older brothers. So here he was—the fifth son. His brothers all dove headfirst into the study of governance and war. His forays into the library focused on music and literature, much to the dismay of his tutors. But since it was unlikely that he’d ever hold any position, in government or the town’s militia, and since he wouldn’t be allowed a trade, in the end they threw their hands up and let him have his way.</p><p>He was sixteen the first time he snuck away, following old Tren back to his little cabin after the old man had made one of his monthly trips into town for supplies. When Jaskier turned up at his door, lute in hands, Tren had given him the tongue lashing of his life, but had also given him his first real music lesson after he’d finished. The bard’s hands trembled, and the joints of his fingers were swollen with arthritis, but despite this his ear was still true and he was an apt teacher for the young bard-to-be.</p><p>His parents and their court paid so little attention to their useless fifth son that his excursions remained undiscovered for a year and a half. The lashing he received for this left more an impression than the verbal one he’d received from Tren, but didn’t discourage him. Eventually, his parents gave up trying to dissuade him.</p><p>“Go ahead and get yourself eaten, Dandelion,” said his eldest brother. “Just don’t expect us to come looking for your remains.”</p><p>“And a good day to you, too,” Jaskier replied, giving his brother one of the elaborate bows their etiquette teacher had drilled into them. Unlike his brother, he excelled at these, and they both knew it.</p><p>All the talk of monsters and being eaten by them set Jaskier to thinking. He had, after all, been traveling this path for months and not once had he seen anything more threatening than a stag, rubbing the fuzz off his horns. There was plenty of wildlife—birds, rabbits, and other such insignificant creatures, all of which he thought would be scarce if there were truly ravenous beasts roaming the woods.</p><p>He asked Tren about him once. Tren shrugged.</p><p>“Lots of monsters about, but they see to each other,” he said, and refused to talk about it anymore.</p><p>At first, each of his trips had been made in a state of heightened alertness, ready to run at a crack of a twig or a strange sound. But as the weeks and months and then years passed, he grew complacent, and by the start of his second year visiting Tren, he treated his trips as if they were a stroll through the town square.</p><p>That had been a foolish thing, he came to realize, on the day when a massive creature slunk onto the path in front of him. It looked something like a giant wolf, but fiercer, more menacing.</p><p>It growled, a bass rumble that reverberated through the ground on which they stood. Jaskier took a slow step back, and then another, and then froze when a similar growl sounded from behind him. Turning slowly so he could keep one eye on the monster in front of him, he confirmed that a second beast had blocked his retreat.</p><p>Neither of them had made a move towards him yet. He cast about, trying to see if any of the nearest trees had branches low enough that he could use them to heave himself, but he was in the heart of the woods now, surrounded by tall, smooth trunks.</p><p><em>Well, I hope they at least put up a nice headstone for me,</em> he thought as the beasts began creeping towards him, low to the ground.</p><p>When the first beast let out an ear-splitting screech, his nerve broke, and he ran. His feet took him off the path and he zigged and zagged between the trees, hearing the heavy thud of paws overtake him. He could almost feel their fetid breath on the back of his neck, and then one of them let out another shriek, but this one was different. It sounded almost frightened, instead of frightening. Their heavy steps stopped, but Jaskier kept going until he reached a tree he could scale. He leaped at it, catching the branch and pulling himself up, expecting to feel teeth in his heel at any moment, but he managed to mount and straddle the lowest branch. Looking down, he saw the empty forest floor beneath.</p><p>The trees, while not dense, still blocked much of the sunlight, so he couldn’t see the beasts clearly, but he saw shapes darting between the trunks. Except now, a third had joined them.</p><p>Jaskier could almost imagine they were dancing together, so graceful were their movements, except when two of them converged with a crash that shook the tree in which he sat. The beast let out another shriek. This time there was no doubt as to the timbre of its call—it was definitely a cry of pain.</p><p>The unknown figure, taller, and standing on two feet instead of four, lashed out and Jaskier caught the glint of steel in the dappled light that made its way through the cover of leaves. After an exchange of strokes, the beast let out another scream, and its top half went in one direction while its lower half flew the other. The second beast which had been about to pounce, hesitated, and that was its downfall. The third figure spun, swords flashing again, and its head became airborne.</p><p>Silence followed, so absolute that Jaskier’s heartbeat seemed to thunder in his chest. So much so that the unknown figure seemed to have heard it. Its head turned in his direction and after a pause it loped towards him, a graceful gait that took him to the base of his tree in seconds. It came to a halt there and looked up at him, and Jaskier was startled to see it had the shape of a man. He got the impression of a sturdy figure clad in black, with white hair and amber eyes, and then in the blink of an eye it was gone.</p><p>“Um. Thank you, I guess?” Jaskier said, his voice barely above a whisper. Whatever or whoever it was, it had saved his life.</p><p>Getting down out of trees was always harder than getting up into them, but he managed, with minimal damage to his clothing or dignity. His lute had survived intact, and that’s all that mattered. Well, and his body—that mattered too. He debated turning around and going back home, but he was closer to Tren’s cottage than the village, so in the end he went on about his way.</p><p>Tren gave him a look up and down when he appeared, scowling at his disheveled appearance. When Jaskier told him what had happened, his scowl deepened, then he shrugged and gestured Jaskier in.</p><p>“Two fewer things to worry about,” he said, and that was the end of it.</p><p>Throughout the next week Jaskier worried at what had happened, picking at it like a sore to see if it would bleed. When he’d normally leave for his next trip into the woods, he hesitated, unsure whether he should go again. In the end, the lure of the music drew him. He neither heard nor saw anything unusual this trip, as with every other trip through the woods he’d taken after the last, but he felt the hairs on the back of his head stir, as if someone were watching him from afar. There were no ominous shadows moving between the trees, though, nor a glimpse of anything that could be a head of white hair. Shrugging, he put it out of his mind for now.</p><p>Several months passed as so many others had, until the day when he’d stopped along the path after picking up a stone in one boot. He was about to let his lute slide to the ground so he could sit and take the boot off, when the white haired man (or at least he thought it was a man) materialized out of the woods beside him, taking his arm.</p><p>“Echinops,” he hissed, dragging Jaskier down the path and away from the spiky growths that had grown up along the side of the path since he’d last made the trip. He got no further information before the man (still unsure on this point—he’d been too startled to take a good look) melted away into the trees. He limped along with the stone underfoot until he reached Tren’s cottage, only then stopping to take his boot off and shake the offending pebble loose. On his return trip, the spiky growths had disappeared, and after a bit of poking around in the library, he learned what echinops were.</p><p>“The monsters take care of themselves,” he said, remembering Tren’s words. Although whether his savior could be counted among the monsters, he wasn’t sure.</p><p>Before heading out the next week, he snuck into the kitchen, filching a few things from the pantry and wrapping them in a towel, which he stowed in the pack he’d brought for just this reason. When he reached the spot on the trail where he thought the echinops had been, he stopped, removing the bundle of bread and cheese and dried fruit from his pack and placing it on the ground. The sense of being watched had accompanied him for most of this trip, and he stared out into the forest as he said “thank you” before continuing to the cottage. The food had disappeared upon his return, the towel folded where he’d left it.</p><p>“That’s one mark against you being a monster,” he said to himself as he took up the towel. From then on out, he left something there on every trip. Sometimes it was gone when he came back and sometimes not. On those occasions, he’d have a snack on his return trip, smuggling the rest up to his room for those times when he’d stay up late reading whatever tome had caught his fancy.</p><p>Once, he left a book. That was gone when he returned, but a few weeks later, it showed up again, wrapped back in the oiled cloth in which he’d wrapped it to protect it from the elements.</p><p>“Mark two against,” Jaskier said, and the book exchange program began. Sometimes his monster would leave the book behind, and others he’d take it, keeping it for a few weeks before returning it. There was no pattern to his preference that Jaskier could discern at first until he realized that variety was the key. A book of poetry would disappear one week, but upon its return, if he replaced it with another book of poetry, that book would stay untouched. If he followed it up with a treatise on the politics of the area, or a book on herbology, though? It would take those books. Or borrowed, more like. It always returned them in the condition in which he left them, no matter the weather.</p><p>“So you’re fastidious, too. What are you?” he asked, not expecting an answer. If he’d gotten one, he’d probably have jumped out of his skin. He still felt eyes on him as he followed the trail.</p><p>A new ballad had begun to form—The Wolf in the Woods, he’d call it.</p><p><em>Not all beasts who roam our woods….</em> No, that wasn’t right. Frowning, he continued to compose lyrics in his head as he walked.</p><p> </p><p>And then there was the day when he set out for his weekly visit, one afternoon in early spring. The sun shone with the deceptive warmth of that time of year, making you leave your cloak behind because you’re fooled into thinking it’s a comfortable temperate day. But once you’re out for more than a few minutes, you realize there’s a wind that blows straight through your clothes and into your bones and you begin to long for the extra layers you’ve left behind.</p><p>The trees provided a seeming relief, but once under their shelter and away from the rays of sunshine, the cold deepened. It wasn’t just the chill that caused Jaskier to shiver as he walked along the path. There was a feeling to the woods today. No shadows followed him, and nothing slunk out from between the trees to block his path, but Jaskier still felt the hairs on his arms stirring.</p><p>For the first time in months he didn’t stop to leave his offerings for his friendly beast, instead hurrying along the path, trotting past the spot where he’d first met his white haired shadow and picking up his pace once he’d passed it. A sense of urgency had overtaken him, one he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.</p><p>It wasn’t until he was only a few hundred yards from Tren’s cottage that he found a source for his unease. He could see, even from this distance, that the door to Tren’s cottage stood open, and as he neared, he saw it hung unevenly on its hinges. He slowed, but didn’t stop, scanning the surrounding forest as he continued to approach. It did him no good.</p><p>“There you are,” a voice said from behind him and he jumped, letting out a frightened squeak. “The little noble brat who slums it in the woods. Your friend isn’t being very cooperative. Maybe you can convince him.”</p><p>Jaskier bolted then, but it was too late. A hand shot out, grabbing his upper arm and yanking him back. The fingers felt like iron, and he was sure they’d leave bruises where they dug in. “Come on, you,” the man snarled, and started dragging Jaskier towards the cottage.</p><p>For the first time in his life, Jaskier wished he’d joined his brothers in their martial studies. He was sure any of them could have freed themselves from this bandit’s grip. He had no doubt that’s what this man was, as well as the others whose voices he could hear from within.</p><p>“Look what I caught, boys!” the man who held him roared as he shoved Jaskier ahead of him up the stairs. “Another songbird, lost in the forest.” He shoved Jaskier again and Jaskier stumbled over the threshold, nearly falling as his foot caught on the rug that lay inside the door.</p><p>“Now, you old food, are you going to tell us where the gold is, or are we going to have to start breaking pretty boy’s fingers?” one of the other men in the room asked.</p><p>“Please, I’ve already told you. There is no gold. I don’t have anything worth stealing,” Tren pled.</p><p>Jaskier had only a moment to take in the scene before him—broken furniture, shredded linens, and Tren, face bloody and cradling one hand in the other—before the true cause of his unease made itself known. Hearing a strangled gurgle from behind him, he turned, falling back with a shriek as he saw the looming shadow in the door, with the bandit held between giant pincers. The crunch of bone echoed through the cottage as the pincers crushed his torso, and as it threw the body aside, its form was made clear.</p><p>Jaskier’s brain froze at the sight—a giant centipede, filling the doorway as it reared up—but his body behaved in a more sensible manner, throwing him to the side on reflex as the centipede burst through the door.</p><p>Everything slowed as the creature scuttled into the room, head brushing the ceiling as it turned back and forth, taking them all in. Realizing he was currently the closest other living thing to the beast, Jaskier did his best to stop breathing, trying not to call any attention to himself. He had no idea what its senses were and banked on the possibility that it was attracted to motion. His bet seemed to pay off as the faceted eyes came to rest on the foremost of the three bandits in the room. Jaskier could have sworn the man whimpered as those eyes seem to come to rest on him.</p><p>When the centipede rushed forward towards the bandit, Jaskier rolled to the side, then scrambled over to where Tren sat.</p><p>“I think we can make the door,” he started to say, then froze again as another silhouette filled the doorway. This one, though, was man-shaped, and as it took a step forward Jaskier recognized the white hair. His own personal monster brandished two swords, their blades coated in what looked like black slime, and his clothing was torn in several places.</p><p>The centipede hadn’t noticed his appearance, focused instead on the lead bandit. The bandit had tried to slice at it when it charged, but his sword hadn’t penetrated the beast’s skin, and he let out a scream as its pincers closed on him. Unlike the first, this time the pincers pierced him, driving into each side. As Jaskier watched in horror, he began to thrash, skin turning black and froth bubbling from his lips.</p><p>No one had noticed the appearance of the other except Jaskier, so when he charged the monster, it took everyone else by surprise. The next few minutes were a blur, filled with screaming bandits and an assortment of crashes and thumps as the centipede tried to avoid the two blades of the white haired…man? Now that Jaskier had a chance to get a good look at him, it is what he seemed to be, although he moved faster and seemed stronger than any man Jaskier had ever known.</p><p>It seemed like an eternity before the beast died, but it also seemed to end in an instant. One of the other bandits fell, crushed by the centipede as it tried to evade the other attacker, but the other escaped through the door and ran off screaming into the forest. In the end, the white haired man (Jaskier had decided this was the best way to refer to him) stood over the centipede, now in two pieces. Black liquid oozed from each half, sinking into the rugs and floorboards of Tren’s cottage.</p><p>“A bit late, my friend,” Tren said in a wavering voice.</p><p>“They disturbed a next. This was the last one,” the man replied in a hoarse voice. His eyes met Jaskier’s for a heartbeat, and then the other turned to leave.</p><p>“Wait!” Jaskier called out, but it was too late. He’d already disappeared. Pushing himself to his feet, Jaskier rushed to the door, but when he reached it the other was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“Great. Just great. Come in, slice the beast to half, then disappear and leave me to clean up the mess,” he grumbled.</p><p>When he turned back, he saw Tren struggling to stand.</p><p>“Here, wait,” he said, rushing back across the room. If this kept up, he’d wear a rut in the floor. “Did they hurt you?” Now that he could get a good look at Tren, he could see a bruise high on one cheekbone and a split lip. The way Tren winced when Jaskier helped him stand spoke of other injuries, and he still cradled one hand, holding it close to his chest. “Here. Let me see.” Tears sprang to his eyes as he saw Tren’s fingers, swollen and misshapen. “We’ve got to get you back to town. Can you walk?”</p><p>“If we take it slow,” Tren said. “I think they may have cracked a rib.”</p><p>Jaskier rigged a sling for Tren’s arm, then bound it in place to keep them from jostling his injured hand. They set off at a shambling pace, with Tren’s other arm thrown across Jaskier’s shoulders.</p><p>Their progress was agonizingly slow. Tren wasn’t spry at normal times, and this was anything but normal. The walk normally took him an hour and a half. As he figured it, with the rate they were going, they might make it back to town before evening.</p><p>They took frequent rest stops, and Jaskier scanned the surrounding forest each time, hoping to catch a glimpse of that white hair. Finally, frustration overtook him and he shouted out, “Not that I’m not grateful for your help earlier, but we could use a little more now!”</p><p>Tren laughed, a weak chuckle, but with real humor in it.</p><p>“He won’t bother with us. He only pays attention to the other monsters.”</p><p>“Other monsters?” Jaskier asked, confused.</p><p>“Oh, yes, for he counts himself among them, as would many others. He’s a Witcher, you see.”</p><p>“Well, that explains a few things.” The white hair, the amber eyes, the way he moved. “But why does he think himself a monster?”</p><p>“Perhaps because so many others have called him so. Come, let’s try this again, shall we?”</p><p>Jaskier helped Tren up from the fallen log on which he’d sat, then squeaked in surprise when he turned and nearly planted his nose in the Witcher’s chest. Those amber eyes stared at him, unblinking, before he turned to Tren. Without any effort he picked up the old bard, cradling him in his arms, and then he set off down the path. Jaskier stared after him for a few startled moments, then shook his head and followed. He had to jog to catch up, and then trot along beside the Witcher to keep pace with the man.</p><p>“I’m Jaskier,” he said. “And you are?”</p><p>“Walking,” the other replied.</p><p>“Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Deadly with two blades and a sense of humor besides.” That earned him a grunt, but nothing more. “Do you have a name, then?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Jaskier waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.</p><p>“His name is Geralt,” Tren said. “And it wouldn’t hurt him to talk to someone besides me.”</p><p>“Hm,” the Witcher grunted.</p><p>“Geralt, is it? Why do you live in these woods?”</p><p>“Because it’s quiet,” Geralt growled, then glanced at Jaskier briefly before turning his attention back to the path. “Normally.”</p><p>They made good time now, with Geralt carrying Tren. It wasn’t long before they neared the village. When they’d nearly reached the edge of the forest, Geralt set Tren down with a tenderness that belied his fierce demeanor. Without saying a word to either of them, he strode off the path and into the trees. Although he watched Geralt go, in the blink of an eye he’d disappeared into the deepening gloom.</p><p>“Thank you!” Jaskier called out, and he could have sworn he heard a faint grunt in response.</p><p>When they entered the village, they caused quite a stir, with their battered appearances and the black ooze staining their clothes. The commotion they raised brought his father and brothers out of the manor, their displeasure obvious at being disturbed in their evening meal. At the sight of Jaskier and Tren, they stared, mouths agape, until one of his brothers blurted out, “What have you gotten up to now.”</p><p>“Attacked by bandits and a giant centipede, but we’re all right. Mostly. Thanks for asking.”</p><p>“Right,” another brother scoffed. “If that had really happened you’d be dead. You’re useless with a blade.”</p><p>“That I am. Luckily, we were saved.” He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. “By a Witcher.”</p><p>At that, worried murmurs began to spread through the townsfolk.</p><p>Tren scowled at them. “You should be grateful to have a Witcher in your woods. He’s kept many a monster from your doorstep these past years.”</p><p>When Tren spoke, he drew Jaskier’s father’s eyes, and the viscount frowned. “Come. We’ll fetch you a healer and you can tell us more. Back to your dinners, after all!” he called out to the crowd, and though there were still mutters, the people returned to their homes, with many a backwards glance.</p><p>While the healer saw to Tren’s ribs and hand, his family grilled him on the events of the day. If it had been just him, his tale would have been discounted as a wild flight of fancy, he knew. His father would mutter about an overactive imagination and too much reading. But with Tren backing him up and adding additional details, they grudgingly accepted his retelling as fact.</p><p>“How long has this Witcher been in our forest, then?” his father asked at last.</p><p>“A little over three years now.  He strays far afield from time to time, but always returns.”</p><p>Three years. That put his arrival around the same time that Jaskier had first begun to visit Tren. Were the two related? He’d have to ask if he could tempt Geralt into making another appearance. Maybe some sweets.</p><p>The next day, Jaskier traveled with his brothers and a troop of guards to Tren’s cottage. When they found it as Jaskier had described, they shook their heads and shot him looks of disbelief, but dragged the corpses, human and not, out of the cabin. While the soldiers dug a pit in which to bury the lot, his brothers surveyed the damage.</p><p>“Might be best to level it and start over,” one said, staring at the stains on the walls and floor.</p><p>“Maybe ask Tren first?” Jaskier said, which earned him another scowl.</p><p>The craftspeople his father sent out to the cabin ended up replacing the floor and covering the walls with new plaster. More of the furniture had survived than Jaskier had thought, and only a few new pieces were needed.</p><p>Life returned to normal, mostly. Jaskier resumed his visits once Tren was healed. He still left little gifts in the same spot, and one day he found Geralt waiting for him, borrowed book in hand. The book was a bestiary Jaskier had found in a corner of the library. Geralt held it open to a page and scowled at Jaskier as he shoved it at him.</p><p>“These beasts don’t exist,” he said. “And it’s wrong on most of the others.”</p><p>“Really? What should it say?”</p><p>The village folk and his family remained uneasy over the presence of a Witcher in their woods, but Jaskier chipped away at them, bit by bit, spinning them tales of the monsters Geralt had told him about, the ones in their woods that he’d battled and defeated.</p><p>It was finally his music that won them over. One day as he passed through the town square, he started singing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not all beasts who roam</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who find these woods their home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Are what they seem to be</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For one befriends me</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>There’s a White Wolf who</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Watches me go through</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Clears the path and then fades away </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>And when the White Wolf fought</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Men and monsters both</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Our champion prevailed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So pour him some ale</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Toss a coin to your Witcher</em>
</p><p>
  <em>O’ Valley of Plenty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>O’ Valley of Plenty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And friend of humanity</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Toss a coin to your Witcher</em>
</p><p>
  <em>O’ Valley of Plenty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>O’ Valley of Plenty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Toss a coin to your Witcher</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A friend of humanity</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I couldn't get the meter quite right for the new words to the song. Mea culpa.</p><p>Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile">check out my profile</a> for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing. If you liked this, please share! Kudos are love and comments are always appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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